You're Wearing my Jumper
by TheLateNightStoryteller
Summary: A oneshot FitzSimmons fluff. In which there is a disagreement over exactly whose jumper Simmons is wearing.


"I knew it, you've been in my room," Fitz accused, hands on his hips as he scowled at her.

"What?" Simmons mumbled, not looking up from the microscope.

"You've been in my room," he repeated impatiently and she lifted her head, grudgingly turning her attention to him, eyebrows raised as if _he_ were the one starting trouble.

"What are you going on about?" she sighed.

_'She hasn't even been paying attention,'_ he thought hotly. _'What's she looking at that's more important than preventing her teammate from freezing to death?' _The correct answer should have been nothing.

"That's my jumper," he told her, jabbing a finger at her accusingly, he could see it under her lab coat. "I left it on my bed this morning and when I went to go get it, because I was cold, because it's bloody freezing in here-"

"So we can preserve the tissue sam-" she interjected, crossing her arms.

"The tissue samples," he scoffed. "They're kept in a freezer."

"Well I'm working with them outside the freezer right now aren't I?" she shot back and he huffed at her. Of course she'd come up with a perfectly sound argument and make _him_ seem like the one acting immature.

He wasn't the one stealing other peoples clothes like some sort of jumper-ninja though was he? Fitz pictured Simmons, dressed all in black, slinking into his room to nab the jumper while he wasn't looking. Black was nice on her, he noticed, it brought out the colours in her hair, highlighted the lovely shape of her face...

He quickly banished the image from his mind, remembering his _friend_ was on trial for grand-theft jumper and that, what did or did not look nice on her, was irrelevant. Simmons was usually honest, polite, but she'd know him so long, they'd shared so much, she'd probably gotten it into her head that it was fine for her to 'borrow' his clothes without asking. She'd had her eye on that _particular_ jumper ever since he'd received it from his mum two years ago, going on about how lovely the colour was and how pretty the patterns were, and now she was soaking it through with the smell of slowly rotting alien tissue. Possibly in a clever ploy to make it too fleshy-smelling for him to wear.

Nah, this was Simmons, she wasn't that devious. It must be a misunderstanding, her nose was so full of the stench of death and decay and odd smelling goop she probably didn't even notice the unpleasant odour.

However, it was a misunderstanding she was not taking seriously.

"You're working on them in _my_ jumper," he informed her again, quickly becoming impatient with her lack of attention.

"What?" she frowned. "Oh," she chuckled at him and he continued to scowl. What was so funny? "You're mum knitted me one too, she sent it to me about a week ago. I was going to tell you but," she blew out a breath and shook her head, smiling apologetically, "we've been so busy lately I must have forgotten."

"Yeah, I know," he answered, unimpressed. "She told me she was making you one, but that one is mine."

"Fitz they look exactly the same," she groaned, attempting to return to her slide. "You probably just put yours away and forgot-"

"Forgot?" he gasped, offended.

"Like I said, we have been busy lately," she reminded him distractedly. "What with what happened on Flight 627-"

"That jumper is mine," he insisted and she groaned again, abandoning her work and gazing at him as if he were being a nuisance.

"They're exactly the same," she argued.

"No, mine is worn in a bit more," he pressed, "there's a tear in the sleeve, I had to stitch up remember?"

"From that time back at Sci-Ops when you were stuck in the sliding glass door?" She wondered, shaking her head. "I still don't know how you managed to-"

"That stupid door didn't recognize me as a human," he grumbled. "It was always closing on me."

"It is your jumper," she said suddenly, glancing at the sleeve, not sounding nearly as apologetic as she should have. "Then where's mine?" she wondered, puzzled.

"How should I know where your- Oh," he realized, the blood rising to his cheeks as he understood what had happened.

"Fitz?" she asked, eyebrows raised again.

They'd washed their clothes together and, once they'd folded them, he'd been the first to pick his out. He'd taken the jumper on top, not thinking about the fact that Simmons had one exactly the same as him.

"There's been a mix up with the laundry, hasn't there?" she guessed, tilting her head accusingly.

"There may have been," he admitted, embarrassed.

"And you lost my jumper," she stated, shaking her head.

"I didn't- you- well you're getting mine full of _that,_" he scrunched his nose at thawing, meaty flesh decaying on the dish beside her.

"I'm wearing a lab coat," she dismissed while she carefully lifted the dish and carried it to the freezer. "How about I help you look for it," she offered, placing it in among the other samples.

"That'd be appreciated," he replied gratefully, still slightly flustered by his mistake as he watched her.

Once she was finished she snapped off her gloves, disposing of them in a bin, slid off the lab coat and began removing the jumper.

"What are you doing?" he wondered, confused.

"Giving you your jumper back," she told him, as if it should be obvious.

That wouldn't do.

"But then you'll be cold," he objected, raising his hands so she'd stop. "Keep it on, I'll just wear yours this time around."

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, concern showing on her face.

"I'm fine," he assured her even as a shiver ran down spine and he shuddered.

She shot him a disbelieving stare. "You hate the cold," she said.

"I hate seeing you cold more," he answered.

She narrowed her eyes affectionately at him, clearly touched. It warmed him right up to see her look at him that way but it also caused the flush across his cheeks to redden and spread to his ears.

"Besides, we're leaving the lab anyway, to look for it,' he covered swiftly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. Whatever that was.

She took the lab coat and hung it gently over his shoulders, smiling warmly at him as she tucked it around his arms. "There, that should make you feel a bit better," she decided.

"OK," he murmured caught up in how close to him she was, how nice she smelled for a moment before he remembered they had a mission. "Let's go find your jumper," he said, worming his arms into the sleeves.

They searched the Bus, Fitz in a lab coat and Simmons in his jumper, which he didn't mind so much any more. It wasn't actually her fault and he could share with her. She was responsible and she took care of things, like she took care of him. Like they took care of each other.

"Hey I thought I put that in the wash," Skye commented as they passed her, catching a glimpse of the jumper.

"You what?" "Did you?" they asked, rounding on her.

Her gaze moved between them confused. "I thought so," she replied. "I found it on the floor of your room Fitz."

"On the floor?" Simmons frowned, turning to him and crossing her arms. "Fitz-"

"It must have fallen," he defended. "I put it on my bed, I was _going _to wear it."

"Oh, sorry," Skye apologized.

"Don't be," Simmons insisted. "That was very thoughtful of you Skye, wasn't it Fitz?"

Of course it was, he wasn't being ungrateful, he'd simply been surprised that Skye had decided to wash his jumper. That she'd been in his room.

"What were you doing in there?" he inquired suspiciously.

"You owe me two bags of Skittles poker-face," she teased and Simmons chuckled at him.

"Oh yeah," he mumbled.

"Anyway," she told them, rolling her eyes. "I'm going back to twenty-four-hour fitness with Ward." She puffed out a breath. "Yay, chin-ups," she cheered sarcastically, doing an unenthusiastic fist pump before continuing on.

"I guess that solves that mystery," Simmons remarked, watching her go. Then she stretched. "I'm going to take a break, would you like to join me?"

"Alright," he accepted, smiling at her. "Would you like to go for a walk? The trees in this area are lovely this time of year."

He remembered how she loved autumn, chirping on about the oranges and reds which lit the treetops like flames.

_'It's because the leaves lose their chlorophyll,' _she'd explained to him once. _'It breaks down so you can see the other pigments in the tissue. They're always there, the green is just hiding them.'_

Always there, just like she was for him. Helping him search for a jumper he'd been the one to lose, helping him out of that door at Sci-Ops, showing him how to sew up his sweater afterwards, beside him to fix the things that needed to be fixed. He hoped she knew what that meant to him, and that he was there for her just as strongly as she was for him.

"Oh they are, aren't they?" She grinned. "I guess you'll need your jumper-"

"Keep it," he told her again. "I'll get another one from my room. Meet you at the loading bay in five minutes?"

"Don't be late," she joked as they smiled at each other.

Fitz wasn't sure how much he really needed the jumper with her sending him all those sunny looks, but he went anyway, glancing back at her one last time as she skipped down the hall.

In a way, Simmons was his jumper, one he couldn't take off and never really wanted to. She fit him perfectly, made him feel good all over and kept him safe from the cold of the world.

She was his jumper and he was hers and that made the whole world just a tiny bit warmer.

/-/-/

* * *

There is a reference to the science fiction series Fringe in this story. It is Flight 627. This flight appears in the first episode of Fringe and all the passengers have their flesh melted off their bodies by an airborne toxin.

The stuff about the leaves is what I remember from High School biology and double checked on google.

I came up with the idea for this story during a conversation with notapepper and they encouraged me to write it into a fic. Thanks :). You are awesome.

Agents of Shield belongs to it's super creators and ABC and Marvel.


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